There was a reason I bought this tiny print many years ago: it does indeed express my acute... fondness for doing laundry.
So while I have made VAST improvements on the state of Chez Squirrel (my knitting lady friends can now be allowed back into my home as there is somehwere for them to SIT) one of my 2 laundry hampers [brights vs. darks] is stilll staring reproachfully at me. Oops.
But I put my shredder through its paces today, oh yes indeed. And I'd made a mix CD for my morning exercises which turned out to work equally well in terms of getting my a** moving a la housecleaning.
Lady GaGa may have eaten my brain, but she and many others (Tom Jones, Rihanna, Nelly Furtado, KC & The Sunshine Band, The Shanghai Restoration Project, and Lisa Stansfield circa 1990) powered me through several hours of cleaning on Sunday.
The cleaning was wedged in between two evenings of multi-course feasts at opposite ends of the budget spectrum.
Saturday night I went out with my friend Jane and the other 2 bridesmaids for dinner at A Voce in the Time Warner Center, which should've been a tipoff that it was a good thing I'd just gotten paid this week.
Does not the facade intimidate, er, I mean, indicate that you'd better be prepared to be swarmed over by hordes of black-garbed waitstaff? (Um, do I sound bitter? But actually, the staff was very pleasant and unobtrusive, and the evening was entertaining. And as A helpfully reminded me, it did indeed generate some luscious food porn.)
When I looked at the menu at the office on Friday afternoon (to scope out food options for my WW points), my hair turned a little whiter than it already is (from the prices).
But I sucked it up and resigned myself to the $$$$ since I had had weeks beforehand to poke around and raise an objection. Next time I know, that as Anthony Bourdain says so succinctly in his new book, Medium Raw (which is hilarious, by the way -- thank you Kobo and New York Public Library!) Chapter 3: The Rich Eat Differently Than You and Me. (I plan to read that chapter on the subway in the morning, so no, I dunno how differently, according to Mr. Pottymouth.)
My appetizer, though delicious ("Insalata di scarola - escarole, warm pancetta vinaigrette, soft boiled farm egg, pecorino romano") I did not capture for posterity as it was, well, a salad. And my wine ("Vernaccia di San Gimignano, Rocca delle Macie, Tuscany") though delightful, was also not memorialized.
My entree I tried to capture without a flash (BIG mistake) but I present here nonetheless the yummity Cappelacci del brigante ("hand crafted pasta, marinated mussels, garlic, marjoram") which I demolished happily.
For dessert, Jane ordered the semifreddo ("semi-frozen chocolate chip mousse, bitter orange, cocoa pizzelle").
Meanwhile, I was torn between this option below, the torta (chocolate walnut tart, cinnamon gelato, caramel) and what I eventually ordered.
When I appealed to our server (who remained elegantly nameless, thankfully) for help she grinned and laughed. (uh oh...) One was the house specialty and the other (the torta) caused the pastry chef to be hired/stolen from her previous employer. Heh. Decisions, decisions...
Since the other two bridesmaids helpfully ordered the torta, I was free to head straight for the house specialty, the Tuscan doughnuts ("Bomboloni alla Toscana - tuscan doughnuts, bittersweet chocolate"). That innocent description did not do justice to the superfluffy dough, dusted with crystal sugar and filled with warm custard.
Oh. My. Goodness.
Since they were huge and plentiful, everyone got to try some, and also the chocolate dipping sauce. There was no graceful way to eat them (that I could figure out anyway) and so by the end of dessert, my fingers were a sticky mess and I was a happy camper.
Since it is now very, very late (or early, depending on how you look at it) I will have to hold off on describing Sunday night's feast with two neighborhood friends.
So while I have made VAST improvements on the state of Chez Squirrel (my knitting lady friends can now be allowed back into my home as there is somehwere for them to SIT) one of my 2 laundry hampers [brights vs. darks] is stilll staring reproachfully at me. Oops.
But I put my shredder through its paces today, oh yes indeed. And I'd made a mix CD for my morning exercises which turned out to work equally well in terms of getting my a** moving a la housecleaning.
Lady GaGa may have eaten my brain, but she and many others (Tom Jones, Rihanna, Nelly Furtado, KC & The Sunshine Band, The Shanghai Restoration Project, and Lisa Stansfield circa 1990) powered me through several hours of cleaning on Sunday.
The cleaning was wedged in between two evenings of multi-course feasts at opposite ends of the budget spectrum.
Saturday night I went out with my friend Jane and the other 2 bridesmaids for dinner at A Voce in the Time Warner Center, which should've been a tipoff that it was a good thing I'd just gotten paid this week.
Does not the facade intimidate, er, I mean, indicate that you'd better be prepared to be swarmed over by hordes of black-garbed waitstaff? (Um, do I sound bitter? But actually, the staff was very pleasant and unobtrusive, and the evening was entertaining. And as A helpfully reminded me, it did indeed generate some luscious food porn.)
When I looked at the menu at the office on Friday afternoon (to scope out food options for my WW points), my hair turned a little whiter than it already is (from the prices).
But I sucked it up and resigned myself to the $$$$ since I had had weeks beforehand to poke around and raise an objection. Next time I know, that as Anthony Bourdain says so succinctly in his new book, Medium Raw (which is hilarious, by the way -- thank you Kobo and New York Public Library!) Chapter 3: The Rich Eat Differently Than You and Me. (I plan to read that chapter on the subway in the morning, so no, I dunno how differently, according to Mr. Pottymouth.)
My appetizer, though delicious ("Insalata di scarola - escarole, warm pancetta vinaigrette, soft boiled farm egg, pecorino romano") I did not capture for posterity as it was, well, a salad. And my wine ("Vernaccia di San Gimignano, Rocca delle Macie, Tuscany") though delightful, was also not memorialized.
My entree I tried to capture without a flash (BIG mistake) but I present here nonetheless the yummity Cappelacci del brigante ("hand crafted pasta, marinated mussels, garlic, marjoram") which I demolished happily.
For dessert, Jane ordered the semifreddo ("semi-frozen chocolate chip mousse, bitter orange, cocoa pizzelle").
Meanwhile, I was torn between this option below, the torta (chocolate walnut tart, cinnamon gelato, caramel) and what I eventually ordered.
When I appealed to our server (who remained elegantly nameless, thankfully) for help she grinned and laughed. (uh oh...) One was the house specialty and the other (the torta) caused the pastry chef to be hired/stolen from her previous employer. Heh. Decisions, decisions...
Since the other two bridesmaids helpfully ordered the torta, I was free to head straight for the house specialty, the Tuscan doughnuts ("Bomboloni alla Toscana - tuscan doughnuts, bittersweet chocolate"). That innocent description did not do justice to the superfluffy dough, dusted with crystal sugar and filled with warm custard.
Oh. My. Goodness.
Since they were huge and plentiful, everyone got to try some, and also the chocolate dipping sauce. There was no graceful way to eat them (that I could figure out anyway) and so by the end of dessert, my fingers were a sticky mess and I was a happy camper.
Since it is now very, very late (or early, depending on how you look at it) I will have to hold off on describing Sunday night's feast with two neighborhood friends.
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